


no other faith

by Merit



Category: Craft Sequence - Max Gladstone
Genre: Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-17 19:49:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13084152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: Tara wakes up in the darkness.





	no other faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Senji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senji/gifts).



Tara awoke in the darkness, sweat slicking her limbs, the hot air almost suffocating her, the last traces of her dreams disappearing into the ether. She frowned, limbs rubbing against each other, the sticky sheets clinging to her skin. She breathed out, opening her eyes a crack, her room dimly illuminated.

No, that wasn't right. Moonlight streamed through her open window, her curtains rustling gently in the midnight breeze. Her hand crept under her pillow to where she kept one of her daggers, attuned to her blood, because she had driven it into her flesh a thousand, thousand times. It fell easily into her hand, the tip glowing brightly under the cool moonlight.

She felt a chuckle, wise and female, down to her bones. Tara's stance shifted, her shoulders coming down. Tara exhaled, stretching out her legs as she let go of the nervous energy that had consumed her. She lowered her knife and gave the moonlight a dry look.

“If this keeps on happening I'll start billing you. My rate has increased recently, too,” Tara said, the lie flowing easily from her lips. The moonlight seemed amused. “Even priestess Craftswomen need their sleep,” she added, her shoulders slumping, her voice tired. Ever since she got back from Lex Dresediel for the second time, Shale returned shaking and hollow eyed, Seril smiling down, the sky a mantle on her shoulders, her life had been filled with nothing with endless meetings and tedious negotiations.

Seril had returned. Seril had the sky above Alt Coulumb back. The whispers filled the streets until they became shouts. And Tara spent her days in small, over crowded rooms, over filled with opinions. She was lucky if they agreed on one sentence by the end of every day, nervy Craftspeople and cagey priests all finding her strange and peculiar.

“Oh Tara,” and the voice came behind her, even when she turned her head, it never seemed to change from being precisely behind her. Her blind spot, Tara thought, placing the dagger under her pillow again, daring herself to uncurl her fingers from the blade. “Don't you want to celebrate a little?”

Tara swung in her bed, stretching her toes, limned by moonlight before placing them on her cold floor. She stood up and walked over the window, the sheer curtains brushing against her elbows. It was a mostly clear night, the edges of dark clouds at the horizon, but otherwise the moon and stars shone down at her. Tara leaned further out of the window, feeling the stars down into her marrow, where they would someday strip her flesh leaving only bones behind. She wondered, idly and not for the first time, if someone could be a priestess and a Deathless King.

She'd broken boundaries by being the first priestess-Craftwoman. Perhaps she find out on the morning she woke up without any flesh clinging to her bones and Seril staring down at her.

If she lived that long. If any of them lived that long. She tilted her head back, at the tall buildings breaking up at the sky. Distantly she could hear the snap of wings. Perhaps, she thought with a small grin, she'd have wings when she was just bone. Really scare the old Deathless Kings. None of them had wings and she was sure a few would actually be secretly jealous.

Despite the hour, the streets were still littered with people. A woman was smoking outside the building opposite hers, the ember flaring brightly as she inhaled, bright purple smoke drifting up. A horseless carriage rattled past, two no three lovers entwined, unashamed of any prying eyes, the glint of bright teeth under ever watching moonlight. Someone was drunkenly singing a song about the return of Seril, another was yelling was yelling at him to shut up, some people were trying to _sleep_ -

Someone stepped closer behind her, arms embracing her from behind. Tara smelled water and stone and moonlight. It was a homecoming and a revelation.

“Your sky is beautiful tonight,” Tara murmured, leaning back into the embrace. She closed her eyes, exhaling deeply.

“Isn't it?” Seril breathed, the longing of decades still entwined around her words. “Everything I had dreamed of, everything I had hoped of during my long exile.”

Tara opened her eyes again. There were no arms around her, not that she could see with her still human eyes. But the cool hands on her hips felt real. The moon shined down on her and in the shadow of the moon, Tara could almost imagine a smile.

“I didn't think you'd visit again,” Tara admitted, shivering slightly. The night had been hot before Seril had visited and Tara was wearing just a light linen nightshirt, advertising some club she had never been to. Cat had gifted it her to her, smiling, telling her she wouldn't need it much longer.

“I wasn't sure I could,” Seril said. “Before… the Gods' War I couldn't have. But this appears to be a gift of my time in the wilderness,” she added. “I choose you, again, Tara. Your face.”

Her throat was dry. Tara licked her lips, wondering if the smile on the moon was growing deeper, stronger.

“I'm pleased you chose me,” Tara said, the words falling out of her mouth, uneasy and unsure. But the arms drew her closer, and when Tara looked down she saw starlight magnified, the sound of rushing of water, the crunch of ancient stone, poets yearning in ancient tongues.

“How could I not?” Seril whispered, her voice growing thinner than silk.

The arms disappeared in a moment and Tara started, staring up at the moon again. But the moon had shifted again, the gaze impassive, staring down at the might and furore of Alt Coulumb. Down below, the woman smoking threw the cigarette down on the pavement, the ember dashed under her boot. The couple arguing had drifted, sleepy words, and the movement of flesh.

“Good night Seril,” Tara murmured, lowering her eyes, walking slowly away from the window, leaving the curtains open, the air sweeter. The shadows slipped around her, caressing her skin.

She slipped into her bed, shivering as her flesh met the cold sheets. Outside the air was hot, thick with a coming storm, but inside Tara's room, between her sheets, Seril had worked a miracle.


End file.
